


Defaulters

by Enfilade



Series: Contingency Procedures [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Administration, Anger, Breaking Up & Making Up, Consensual Sex, Flirting, Gay Robots, Jealousy, M/M, Paperwork, Past DubCon, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultra Magnus intended to give Rodimus a stern piece of his mind…so how did the two of them end up in a storage closet in a very compromising position?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breach of Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this story contains problematic emotions, including anger, possessiveness, regret, and self-loathing, as experienced by the point-of-view character. Some rougher language than I typically use is included as a reflection of this mindset.
> 
> Past experience has told me I need to spell it out: I am not suggesting that it is always good for people to act on these emotions. I do believe these emotions are natural, and that it’s possible for a person both to accept that it is okay to feel these emotions, and also to recognize that it is not right to express these emotions in a way that harms others. 
> 
> That being said, everything intimate that happens in this fic is mutually consensual. There are some allusions to a past occurrence of dubious consent (ie a participant consented and did not retract consent despite not enjoying himself; power issues call into question whether consent could fairly be given). This event is not depicted in the “present tense” of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place immediately prior to Dark Cybertron.

Defaulters

Chapter One: Breach of Protocol

Ultra Magnus had not intended to spend the evening in violation of six separate sections of the Autobot Code, not to mention engaging in conduct unbecoming an officer and, perhaps worst of all, _contributing to the creation of drama aboard the Lost Light._

The crew of the _Lost Light_ did not need any help from Ultra Magnus when it came to generating drama. In fact, Ultra Magnus had prided himself on being the one mech aboard who set an example for the others to follow. Well, so much for his position as a role model. In the end, this ship—this crew—had dragged him right down to their level.

And that’s why he was currently fragging the brain module out of his captain in a storage closet while various members of the crew walked the hallway outside, none the wiser.

It was the sort of situation that made any sane mech wonder how a person like Minimus Ambus could ever had ended up in a situation like this.  
  
#

This whole mess had started five breems previously…well, to be honest (and Ultra Magnus still considered himself an honest mech), it had _truly_ started just over two weeks ago, on the occasion of Ultra Magnus’s first interface with Rodimus. Ultra Magnus still wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking in the time leading up to that interface—not to mention the second, third and fourth interfaces the following day. 

He’d been upset about Luna One, yes. He’d felt guilty for turning the crew, who he should have trusted more, over to Tyrest, who he should have trusted much, much less that he did. He’d felt grateful to Rodimus for taking him back, for saving a large portion of the Cybertronian race, for…for being Rodimus. For being someone whose passion for doing the right thing could carry him through when the law was being perverted by a twisted madman. Ultra Magnus could only wish he had that kind of passion. He needed the law to help him distinguish right from wrong. Without a firm hand…he had nothing.

So he’d been weak. Vulnerable. But he did not feel that Rodimus had taken advantage. Rodimus had been upset too, and sought Magnus out for comfort. He felt as though he’d been letting his crew down. Magnus knew Rodimus hadn’t always been the most successful captain, but Magnus could not doubt that he’d been trying, or that he truly cared for his crew.

Rodimus had reached out for comfort. Ultra Magnus, of his own volition, had given it. Not well. He’d needed a good deal of instruction from Rodimus. But, in the end, Ultra Magnus had convinced himself that they’d both needed what the other had to offer.

For his own part, Ultra Magnus had needed it badly enough that he’d not only let Rodimus stay the night, but he’d also asked Hound to take over his duty shift the next day so he could repeat his uncharacteristic behaviour. Multiple times. First in his own hab suite, later in Rodimus’s. Eventually, Ultra Magnus had stumbled back to his own quarters, where he’d barely had time to clean his recharge slab before he promptly passed out on it.

That’s when things had gotten awkward. 

Ultra Magnus could hardly look his reflection in the optics the next morning. When he finally summoned the nerve to do it, he was shocked to discover that he looked exactly the same as the day before. He didn’t _feel_ the same at all. It seemed wrong somehow that there could be no outwardly visible sign of such a big milestone in his life.

_Well, what did you expect?_ he chided himself, realizing he was being ridiculous. _A flashing hazard indicator on your aft labelling you as a_ TRAMP _? One of those ridiculous Rodimus Stars for yesterday’s achievement?_ And yet it felt wrong that there wasn’t something, _anything_ to prove that the upheaval he felt wasn’t just in his own mind. 

Ultra Magnus had steeled his nerves and risen to the challenge of facing the rest of the crew. He’d walked into the command center, still uncertain whether to inform the others in icy tones that his love life was his own private business when it didn’t affect the operation of the ship, or if it might be better to refuse to respond to their disgust and derision at all.

He’d received…nothing. Of course not. Of course they couldn’t tell just by looking at him what he had done. They treated him as they always had because they had no idea that he had become someone different overnight.

Somehow that seemed even more wrong to Ultra Magnus than their scorn would have been. It was…unjust. He’d sinned, and he was not going to be punished. What was he supposed to do about that? 

He would get through the day one step at a time. Protocol and routine provided familiarity and reassurance; he would go on duty and he would do his job. It was true he had no idea what he ought to do when Rodimus broached the subject of their… _affair_ , he supposed was the word, but he would simply have to do the best he could when the situation arose.

Then the situation…did not arise.

When Rodimus arrived on the bridge to take command for his shift, he had behaved as though nothing had changed at all. For Rodimus, perhaps nothing had. Rodimus had made a habit out of little flings with his fellow soldiers and, later, with members of his own squad. Even Ultra Magnus had heard the stories about Rodimus and Dealer—and the rumours about Rodimus and Drift. Magnus might just have to accept that for Rodimus, a tryst with his second-in-command was neither remarkable nor particularly memorable.

But Rodimus could at least have had the good graces to say _something_. Even if it was nothing more than _thank you_.

Rodimus had approached Magnus a few times in the last two weeks, and each time Magnus had hoped to receive, at the very least, an acknowledgement of the encounter they’d shared. Instead, each time had been for frivolous and stupid requests: drinks at Swerve’s. Movie night. Board games—as if Ultra Magnus had ever wasted time learning to play some pointless game. 

Yesterday, Rodimus had managed to lure Ultra Magnus to the observation deck. Magnus had arrived posthaste and demanded to know the purpose for their meeting; Rodimus had shrugged and muttered something about spending time together. Rodimus had been utterly unable to specify what they’d be doing, though, and Ultra Magnus had told Rodimus not to waste his time and stormed out. Even now, Ultra Magnus was halfway certain that the whole encounter had been some sort of practical joke. Magnus only wished he knew if he’d spoiled it or if he’d inadvertently provided whatever punchline Rodimus had been looking for.

Now it had been over two weeks since that fateful encounter. _Two weeks_ , and not one word from Rodimus on the matter: no summons to Rodimus’ office to discuss it, no classified memo issued, no revisions to Ultra Magnus’ description of duties, _nothing_. Ultra Magnus was far from an expert on the matter, but he was almost certain that at the very least Rodimus ought to have invited him on a date if he’d had any interest whatsoever in an ongoing courtship. The lack of invitations in Ultra Magnus’ inbox should be proof enough that Rodimus was not interested in anything beyond a one night (technically, and also the next morning) stand.

Ultra Magnus felt a rising irritation. This ongoing silence was downright _cowardly_. Surely Rodimus ought at least to have the good graces to issue a statement confirming his disinterest. This ongoing silence on the subject indicated an utter lack of respect for Ultra Magnus, who apparently didn’t even deserve any indication of closure.

Ultra Magnus had been slumped in front of the surveillance monitors, debating whether that lack of closure was a deliberate slight on Rodimus’ part or simply another example of Rodimus’ typical disregard for proper operating procedure, when an image on camera 4445-2 caught his attention.

The corridor outside of Swerve’s bar. Ultra Magnus spent a disproportionate amount of time watching this camera, because that corridor was the scene of a disproportionate amount of misconduct. Every time someone was sneaking into the bar during duty hours, this corridor was where the security cameras betrayed him. Every time someone was sober enough to make it out of the bar, yet too intoxicated to make it to his hab suite, this corridor was where he passed out. Every time tempers rose and Swerve told his patrons to _take it outside_ , this corridor was the scene of the fight. 

Now, Ultra Magnus saw two bots crash through Swerve’s door and impact the wall opposite the bar. One was Rodimus; the other was Atomizer. They hit as one, limbs tangled together.

And they were obviously not fighting.

Ultra Magnus stared, and a memory swam, unbidden, into his mind.

It had been after he’d tried to do the gentlemanly thing and escort Rodimus back to the captain’s quarters after their….rendezvous…in Magnus’ suite. Rodimus had pulled him in, slammed the door and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on Rodimus’ bed and Rodimus was on top of him. 

It wasn’t fair to lay all the blame on Rodimus. Ultra Magnus had warmed up to the idea of another round very quickly.

Rodimus had done something new this time, though. Nuzzling Magnus’ interface panel. Kissing it. Even licking it, which had shocked Ultra Magnus, even though he’d seen Rodimus doing that sort of thing before thanks to the surveillance cameras.

Ultra Magnus had tried to ask Rodimus…he still wasn’t sure what. It was either a question about what he should do or an inquiry about what it would feel like, but all he’d managed was a _noise_ , like an animal, and Rodimus had stopped, lifting his head and busting out laughing when he’d seen Magnus’ expression.

Magnus could still hear Rodimus’ voice: _what, never seen that before?_

Magnus had panicked, fearing Rodimus was mocking him, and he’d snapped back, _I’ve seen you doing it on the surveillance cameras entirely too often._

That had shut Rodimus up for a moment, at least. Then the captain had leaned closer and asked, _do you like to watch me? Is that what you do, Magnus? Is that how you like to spend your time on duty? You look for me on the cameras, and hope you’ll get the chance to watch me doing things like…_

Magnus had cut him off with a snarled _no_. At the time he’d thought it was because he didn’t want to admit that he’d followed Rodimus with the cameras entirely too often, far more so than he did with most of the rest of the crew, and definitely more often than random search patterns or routine surveillance warranted. Now, though, he thought of how he’d felt when he’d watched those scenes. He’d not been able to find a word for the feeling until he realized that it was not one emotion but two: a volatile cocktail of excitement and fury. 

He loved to watch Rodimus when the captain was alone.

He hated to watch Rodimus with anyone else.

He’d sat up and grabbed Rodimus and kissed him far too forcefully, pinning his arms, likely bruising his lips. Magnus’ sober second thought had come _after_ he’d started to take action, not _before_ taking action like it usually did, and once he realized what he’d done he felt horribly guilty, not to mention angry at himself for his uncharacteristically impulsive behaviour. He’d expected Rodimus to haul off and kick him, and he’d have deserved it, but instead, Rodimus had seemed to _enjoy_ having Ultra Magnus manhandling him. Rodimus had responded very enthusiastically, kissing back, opening his interface panel and…

Well.

No wonder Magnus had spent so long in Rodimus’ quarters.

Now, Ultra Magnus watched Atomizer petting Rodimus’ spoiler and felt that same combustable mixture simmering in his spark.

Rodimus was beautiful, dimming his optics, his mouth opening in pleasure. Rodimus was disgraceful, carrying on like that in a public corridor for anyone to see. Atomizer was…

Atomizer was _trespassing._

Ultra Magnus closed his hands into fists. Rodimus could’ve come to him, if he’d wanted his spoiler petted. Magnus would have done it. Instead, Rodimus had gone to Atomizer, and now all Magnus could do was sit here and…

_Do you like to watch me?_

Rodimus’ words echoed in Ultra Magnus’ audials. On the screen, Ultra Magnus was getting treated to an up close and personal view of Rodimus’ pleasure. His hands closed on Atomizer’s back, and then…

Rodimus leaned against Atomizer. The interior decorator-turned-assassin nuzzled Rodimus’ neck, but Rodimus’ optics were locked on the lens of the surveillance camera. 

Ultra Magnus had seen mechs notice the camera before. Usually their features betrayed a sense of guilt, though the most unrepentant recidivists just scowled at the realization they might be caught out. Rodimus did neither. 

Rodimus split his lips in a grin.

And Ultra Magnus could’ve sworn Rodimus was deliberately winking at the camera.

Atomizer’s hands traced Rodimus’ spoiler in a gesture that looked much like what Magnus clearly remembered doing to Rodimus in the privacy of his hab suite. He also recalled exactly what effect that gesture had on the captain. Magnus ground his teeth, watching Rodimus arch his back and open his mouth in what had to be a groan of pleasure, and Magnus…Magnus remembered exactly what that sounded like. Atomizer’s mask retracted and the archer captured the captain’s lips with his own.

Ultra Magnus’ vision turned red from fury.

Magnus clenched his fists until they hurt, slamming them down on his thighs. He hated this, _hated_ it, and the only thing stopping him from doing something about it was the knowledge that he had no right to try to dictate Rodimus’ sexual behaviour. Ultra Magnus knew exactly how that felt, to have someone else controlling who he interfaced with and how, and it felt _horrible_. It was absolutely, unequivocally _wrong_ for him to try to do that to Rodimus.

Atomizer’s hands slid down to Rodimus’ interface panel. Rodimus twisted and danced away, laughing and teasing. Atomizer pounced him, knocking him into another wall, and once again they twined together.

_Disgusting_ behaviour, and in _public_ ,too…

Ultra Magnus blinked.

Actually, there _was_ something he could do about the scene on the camera. The Autobot Code strictly forbid obscene behaviour in public places. There was also the chapter on conduct befitting a commanding officer, of which Rodimus was currently in violation on several counts: Atomizer was _not_ command staff and therefore _not_ an appropriate intimate partner for a ship’s captain. 

It was petty. It was a technicality compared to the real issue. But…

Ultra Magnus felt his lips twist in an uncomfortable way. He glanced into the reflection of light off the monitors and recognized that he was sporting a rather terrifying smile.

He was the (former) Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, and he _lived_ for technicalities.

And he was heading down to that corridor for some duly appointed enforcing _right now_.


	2. Unit Discipline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings on this chapter for mentions of past dubious consent (permission granted, even though contact wasn't particularly wanted; power/authority issues) and rough sex.
> 
> *
> 
> The feedback on this series is really incredible; thank you so much! It's a delight to write and I am honestly surprised and humbled by how many people like my take on Magnus.

Chapter Two: Unit Discipline

Running in the corridors was unseemly at best and might in fact contravene regulations against unsafe conduct aboard a spacefaring vessel, but Ultra Magnus was willing to take the chance. He was certain he wasn’t moving at a speed that would endanger anyone (evidence: his ability to avoid a collision with Tailgate and Cyclonus, albeit narrowly). “Emergency, stand aside!” he shouted in response to Tailgate’s startled peep and Cyclonus’ scowl.

That was a brief and easily understood explanation. It was also, technically, a falsehood.

Ultra Magnus’ “emergency” was his fear that by the time he reached the corridor outside Swerve’s bar, Rodimus and Atomizer would have moved their little hallway makeout session to somewhere more private. Say, the captain’s hab suite, or perhaps his office. They might be fragging on Rodimus’ desk even now. Visions of the possible permutations of same intruded into his thoughts: Atomizer seated on the edge of the desk, arching his back as Rodimus entered him, or maybe Rodimus facedown on those stupid flames he’d carved into his desktop, crying out in pleasure as Atomizer pounded into him…

Red haze danced at the edges of Ultra Magnus’ vision. Magnus clenched his fists and willed it away.

Ultra Magnus rounded the corner and felt himself equally relieved and disgusted to see two red figures still entwined with each other. Atomizer’s mouth was busy on Rodimus’ neck, and while it sent another wave of rage and loathing through Ultra Magnus’ systems, at least they weren’t…

Atomizer started kissing his way down Rodimus’ chest, bending his knees.

Rodimus twisted away.

Startled, Atomizer rose up again, reaching out a hand and catching Rodimus by the waist. “Come on, don’t be such a tease,” said the archer, facing Rodimus, his back to the oncoming (former) Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. “You want to have a good time or not?”

Rodimus looked over Atomizer’s shoulder at Ultra Magnus and, Primus help him, he _smirked_.

Ultra Magnus checked his stride, slowing from accelerated double-time (more accurately a _jog_ ) to a swift stalking gait that took him right up behind Atomizer. He folded his arms and emitted one of those obviously falsified coughs so useful for letting someone know that he has just been caught doing something he ought not to have been doing.

Atomizer turned around, raising his mask as he did so, but not quickly enough to hide the obviously guilty expression on his face.

Rodimus actually _winked_ behind Atomizer’s back. Ultra Magnus had no idea what in the Inferno was going through the captain’s brain. If _anything_. Sometimes, Magnus wondered.

Right now, though, Ultra Magnus entertained a brief fantasy of throwing Atomizer in the brig and leaving him there to rot. He gave himself precisely two seconds to savour the image before dismissing it from his thoughts. He was _not_ the sex police, and it would be a gross abuse of his authority to imprison Atomizer indefinitely for the crime of daring to touch _his Rodimus_. 

Instead, Ultra Magnus pulled up his internal file of the Autobot Code, cross-referenced with standard punishments for violation of statute 14 (69) 2, and ordered Atomizer to report tomorrow morning for defaulters parade, punishment to constitute full sweeping of engine room and related facilities. Magnus allowed himself to feel a little pleasure as he crossed _assign someone to clean the engine room_ off his list of tasks to accomplish during his work shift. The job needed doing anyway, and it was a proportionate punishment for 14 (69) 2, inappropriate conduct in a public hallway. Ultra Magnus could be satisfied that he had administered a punishment befitting the crime, without allowing his personal feelings to colour his actions.

He wasn’t sure he could do the same with Rodimus.

Rodimus was just standing there, grinning at him. This was going to be awkward, no way around it. There was just something so _wrong_ about lecturing one’s superior officer. On the other hand, Rodimus ought to know better, and as second-in-command it was his duty to step in if the captain’s behaviour became…erratic.

On the other hand what were you _thinking_ , Rodimus? Was that all I was to you, _a good time_? Did it never cross your mind that what might be an evening’s entertainment for you could possibly be something that’s caused me to question everything I thought I knew about myself, everything I thought about _you_ , and don’t you feel the slightest obligation to take responsibility for what you’ve done? Or if _not_ , can you not even manage _a hint of remorse_?

Ultra Magnus did not voice any of those thoughts out loud. He was struggling to contain them when Rodimus spoke.

“Finally,” the captain of the Lost Light said, with a glance over his shoulder, as though to be certain that Atomizer was out of earshot. “It _took_ you long enough.” Rodimus gave a weak little laugh. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

Rodimus’ words made no sense. Ultra Magnus shut them out while he decided on a course of action. He was going to haul Rodimus into his office and stand the captain on the carpet in front of his desk for a stern talking to. That little voice in his head telling him it was inappropriate to call out the captain as he would any other crew member could just shut up. Rodimus’ rank did not magically exempt him from the rules, and Ultra Magnus _would_ get the conversation he felt he deserved after their little indiscretion. He would not permit Rodimus to get away with what he’d done so easily.

Ultra Magnus clamped his hand down on Rodimus’ right arm. “Come with me,” he said, his tone filled with authority.

Rodimus flashed Ultra Magnus a big, broad smile that made no sense given the punishment he was in for.

Ultra Magnus fixed his gaze straight ahead and started walking. 

Rodimus balked. Ultra Magnus felt the load on his arm joint increase as Rodimus forced him to pull his captain along. Magnus registered a sense of dismay followed by a savage exultation; he _wanted_ to drag Rodimus in his wake, to punish him for his behaviour, and Rodimus was providing him with the necessary excuse. The voice of reason screamed in his head, berating him, telling him he ought to be ashamed: that punishment was intended to be _corrective_ , that he should be focused on helping Rodimus improve, not taking some perverse delight in indulging the dark fury that had ignited in his spark the second he’d seen Rodimus and Atomizer making out on the monitors.

Rodimus stumbled after him. Making Magnus tug him, but not _too_ hard. Magnus hoped Rodimus would trip, so he could drag him _properly_ ; then he felt disgusted for wishing such a thing and, worse, frightened by the intensity of the situation. His emotions were utterly haywire these past few weeks, bombarding him with extremes of anger and loathing and pleasure and grief, and he didn’t like it. He’d rather quash all his feelings into nothingness than deal with this internal maelstrom.

“Hey, where are we going?” Rodimus protested as Ultra Magnus marched him past the doors of his hab suite, then past Magnus’.

“My office,” Ultra Magnus ground out.

Rodimus spluttered. “That’s on the other end of the ship!”

Ultra Magnus failed to see the relevance of…oh. Perhaps Rodimus didn’t want anyone to see him being dragged to Magnus’ office just like a delinquent crewer. Rodimus ought to have thought of that before publically pawing Atomizer in the corridors. Ultra Magnus could find no sympathy in his spark for Rodimus now.

Then Rodimus dug in his heels. Ultra Magnus actually stumbled when he kept moving forward while Rodimus actively pulled in a sideways direction.

Ultra Magnus shot Rodimus an angry scowl. Rodimus had no idea of the temptation that Magnus was currently fighting, and this behaviour wasn’t helping in the slightest.

Rodimus tugged on his arm. “In here,” he said urgently, opening the nearest door.

Ultra Magnus complied instantly, following Rodimus through the portal. He realized, as he heard the door click shut behind him, that he’d obeyed without thinking. His natural instinct to follow orders had overridden the fact that in this situation he was supposed to be the one administering discipline and Rodimus was supposed to be the one doing as he was told.

Instead, Rodimus was locking them both into…a storage closet?

Well, at least it was private. Ultra Magnus knew for a fact that there were no surveillance cameras in here. While he would’ve preferred his office—a place where his authority was evident in the very design and layout of the room—he supposed this would do for a confidential dressing-down. 

Rodimus darted past him and over to the workbench against the right side wall. He extended his arm and swept a jumbled pile of brushes, datapads and solvent containers onto the floor. Ultra Magnus made a note to issue a memo regarding returning janitorial supplies to their proper place. There was no need for the workbench to be so cluttered when it wasn’t in use.

Now, though, the mess was on the floor, and that was no improvement. Magnus scowled and bent to pick up a rolling can of cleaner while Rodimus seated himself on the bench as though it were a chair. _Another_ bad habit and potentially also conduct unbecoming an officer if combined with an overall pattern of behaviour creating a loss of respect for the captain’s rank. Rodimus did this pose on Magnus’s desk far too often. 

Ultra Magnus put his hands on his hips and stepped up to Rodimus, glaring down at him, crowding into his personal space in the hopes that he might take a hint and show some respect for Magnus’ authority.

Instead, much to his surprise, Ultra Magnus felt streamlined thighs wrap around his hips and sleek arms curving underneath his forearms. Magnus gasped as a blazing hot interface panel pressed insistently against his own.

He thought he couldn’t be any more shocked. Then he heard the click of that panel opening and, a moment later, the hot, slick touch of dripping valve lubricant. The unexpected hot, dirty mess on his armour made him flinch, but even as his frame twitched away, his arms pulled Rodimus up against him. 

Was he malfunctioning?

“Magnus,” Rodimus moaned into his neck…and how had his captain gotten this close? Their bodies were pressed together from head to crotch, and Rodimus’ fans billowed wafts of heated air into whatever narrow gaps remained. Magnus felt his own fans activate in sympathy, and worse, his spike panel pinged a request for retraction.

His first response was to jack in and frag some respect into Rodimus, right here, right _now_. Primus, he _wanted_ to, which made the wave of revulsion that followed immediately after strike him so strongly. He, of all people, should know that interface ought never, _ever_ to be a punishment. Or a duty. 

He tried to take a step back. Rodimus’ hot little frame was making it hard for him to stop thinking about his commander’s snug valve tightly clenched around his spike, how good it had felt, how much he’d hoped to do it again if they’d ever turned their tryst into a formal courtship…

Rodimus held on all the harder, looping his arms around Magnus’ neck instead. Magnus failed to pull away from him. He pulled Rodimus with him instead, dragging his captain’s aft to the very edge of the bench. If Ultra Magnus backed up any further, he’d be supporting Rodimus’ entire weight. Gravity plastered Rodimus’ flaming-hot interface panel against Magnus’. 

Bewildered, confused, he froze.

“Open up,” Rodimus whispered into his audio.

Rodimus couldn’t possibly be talking about…his spike panel?

_Could he?_

“ _Please_ ,” Rodimus begged, his voice anguished. “Please, I can’t wait any longer, Magnus, _please_.”

Something cool and moist touched Magnus’ spike cover, which seemed to be carrying a not-insignificant heat of its own.

He had to be sure. “Please _what_?” Magnus growled. 

His frame was very clear about what it wanted. He braced his legs, the better to take Rodimus’ weight, and he adjusted his own arms around his captain, ensuring his hands were in ideal spoiler-petting position. His spike knocked insistently against a panel kept closed by will alone; he tried not to think about mess, or how he was more attracted than repulsed by what was surely the slow slide of lubricant. Memories of how it felt inside Rodimus’ valve colluded with his rising excitement to tax his self-restraint up to the breaking point.

“Frag me!” Rodimus’ voice was more sob than command. “Frag me, _please_.”

Ultra Magnus felt a brief frustration that he was giving Rodimus what he wanted. Rodimus should not be getting _rewarded_ for his shameful behaviour. Those objections, though, were overruled by a strong motion from his body which pointed out that Rodimus was not only submitting to but actively encouraging the good hard fragging that Ultra Magnus so dearly wanted to give him. Therefore, there were absolutely no moral objections to same, and it would feel so good to just…

Ultra Magnus felt an incredible wetness grip the head of his spike. He realized he must’ve popped his panel and when his spike extended, it had done so directly into Rodimus’ waiting valve.

Magnus couldn’t stifle his groan of pleasure. Rodimus sighed at practically the same time, creating a perfect duet of relief and satisfaction.

This wasn’t right. Ultra Magnus had no business fragging Rodimus in a storage closet. 

And yet, it felt very, _very_ right.

Ultra Magnus grabbed Rodimus by the hips, slamming up into his tight little valve in a punishing rhythm. Rodimus’ valve yielded against the onslaught in a series of shamefully loud, wet noises. Ultra Magnus didn’t feel ashamed at all. Rodimus would be making a _lot_ more noise before he was done, Magnus thought savagely, and thrust harder. 

A moment later his sober second thought caught up with him and demanded to know what he was doing. His fingers had left _dents_ , for Primus’s sake…not deep ones, but dents nonetheless.

Sickened, Magnus jerked his hands clear of his commander. He didn’t know what to do about the fact that his spike was still embedded in Rodimus’s valve…

…and his confusion only got worse when Rodimus dug his fingers into Magnus’ shoulder stacks, hard enough to hurt, and begged, “Please, Magnus, _harder_.”

Magnus’s spike missed the friction, and who was he to disobey an order? He started to thrust, much more gently. His spike liked that, but Rodimus whimpered and moaned, “Please…frag me harder…Magnus…I swear I’ll do anything…just _please_.”

What was this? Did Rodimus like it when it hurt? Did Rodimus _enjoy_ punishment? That idea was so perverse that Magnus instinctively flinched.

Rodimus emitted a little cry of need and rested his cheek against Magnus’s chest, on the verge of sobbing.

Any urge that Magnus had felt to hurt his captain crept away in shame. Magnus wrapped his arms around Rodimus and rocked against him in a smooth, regular rhythm. Interface should not hurt. Interface should make the recipient feel good. Wasn’t that what Rodimus had taught him?

Magnus discovered that this method was actually very agreeable. He liked the measured motion, each thrust following the same timing, involving the same pressure, reaching the same depth, as the one before and the one after. He liked the comforting familiarity and the repetition. Rodimus stopped whimpering and began mewling, a sound which Magnus had learned meant appreciation. Magnus’s air intakes drank down the hot air from Rodimus’s cooling fans and fed Rodimus’s intakes with his own fan draft. 

“Magnus,” Rodimus breathed. “Magnus, I need…I need _more_.”

Magnus dared to thrust deeper. He swore he felt his spike slamming into Rodimus’ port…the port that was blocked by a device preventing upload.

Magnus could understand the wisdom in such a device. A mech didn’t want to download viruses or malicious subroutines. Trust was one thing; willingness to download someone else’s memories and experiences was something else altogether. Magnus certainly wouldn’t want to start acquiring any of Rodimus’s behaviours if the situation was reversed.

_Receive the Law_.

There it was, that dark anger stirring, wondering why Magnus should be thwarted from simply _fragging_ some respect into Rodimus the way it had been done to him….

_Because Tyrest was_ wrong _._

_Because Rodimus is my…_

_(he’s not anything except your captain)_

_…because_ I feel…I…

Ultra Magnus had no words for the emotion that flooded his systems when he thought about Rodimus. What he did know was that even though he was upset and uncomfortable that he couldn’t categorize their non-professional actions under a label (too uncertain for lovers, too close for acquaintances), he cared about Rodimus, cared _deeply_. No matter how angry or frustrated he got, he would never do harm to his Rodimus.

“M-Magnus,” Rodimus gasped. “ _Minimus Ambus_.”

Ultra Magnus stiffened.

“ _Please…harder…_ ”

What was Magnus supposed to do in response to that?

Magnus was a soldier, and soldiers obeyed orders, and _yes_ , it did feel good to have that tight valve snugged around the full length of his spike. To feel Rodimus’s calipers fluttering against his thrusts. To savour the pressure of Rodimus’s internal nodes against the raised (and, he’d come to realize, sensitive) modifications that had been done to the Magnus Armour’s custom spike. “Tell me,” Magnus gasped, noticing that his own voice was hoarse. “…tell me if it’s too much.”

Rodimus threw back his head and mewed in response. “…love it…so good!” he cried incoherently.

Ultra Magnus still didn’t understand how this encounter could possibly be comfortable for Rodimus. He knew very well that the armour’s spike was large and the rumour that regular fragging made valves sloppy and loose was medically untrue. Rodimus’s valve was still a snug fit, regardless of how many mechs had been where Magnus was now. He’d hate it if the positions were reversed, and yet Rodimus seemed to be feeling very happy, or at least as happy as a mech could be when he was hungry for more.

Well, if Rodimus said it was good, who was Magnus to argue? Rodimus’s hungry little valve seemed intent on gobbling up Magnus’ spike in its entirety. His spike certainly told him that this felt good. 

Magnus set aside his worry and concentrated, instead, on that feeling.

Rodimus wriggled his hips. The notch at the base of the Magnus’ armour’s spike played over Rodimus’s engorged anterior node. Rodimus arched his back and moaned prettily, and Ultra Magnus…

Magnus wrapped both hands around that saucy little spoiler and squeezed, just a little, thrusting hard with his hips.

Rodimus stiffened. Magnus felt his spike head slamming against Rodimus’s port protector, shielding the very top of his valve. Magnus imagined fragging that protector hard enough to break it and wasn’t prepared for the jolt of arousal that ran down his spinal strut and, it seemed, right into his spike. He drove forward, hard. Rodimus arched to meet him, his whole body trembling with tension. Sparks flew as charge arced between their bodies.

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus growled.

Rodimus overloaded.

The sight of Rodimus convulsing in his arms, impaled on his spike, _his_ , his utterly, not Atomizer’s or anyone else’s, all _his_ , overloading for _him_ …well, that sent Magnus up to the edge and right over without a single warning from his systems of his impending climax.

Ultra Magnus didn’t know what came over him. He was fragging Rodimus hard and fast, rough and deep, while Rodimus’s valve spasmed around him and someone was shouting out a wordless cry of satisfaction. Magnus realized, just before the sensation ebbed, that the voice was his own. His voxcoder burned, unaccustomed to such rough usage. His back and hips ached.

And his spike rammed against that guard and flooded Rodimus’s valve with charge that went nowhere.

Ultra Magnus sagged, his knees giving in. Rodimus yelped and clung to Magnus’ shoulders as they both landed on the floor in front of the workbench. Magnus bowed his head, resting his forehead, atop Rodimus’s helm, and listened to the sounds of harsh venting and whirring fans.

He was kneeling on the (insufficiently clean, 3 (27) 4.6, Maintenance of Spacefaring Vessels) floor of a storage closet.

With his spike in his commanding officer’s valve.

And he had no idea what to feel about that, let alone what to do next.


	3. After Action Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for a friend of mine who's been feeling under the weather lately...Bright Blessings to you.

Chapter Three: After Action Report

 _This_ , Ultra Magnus told himself, is where self-doubt had gotten him: the improperly cleaned (ie, still mostly dirty) floor of a utility closet on the _Lost Light_ with his spike in his commanding officer’s valve, and the evidence of their most recent violation of decency dripping down Rodimus’s thighs to further soil the flooring.

Disgusted, Ultra Magnus pulled his wet, dirty, sticky

_(don’t think about it)_

spike out of the valve where it had been more than content to stay, perhaps in anticipation of another round. He retracted it back into his armour and slammed the access hatch shut.

Magnus felt the pang of loss in his body with a savage exultation. _Good_. It _ought_ to be uncomfortable. He deserved it.

Why had he even come on this damnable voyage? It was because of the NAILs – the non-aligned Cybertronians. Eons of war had made it crystal-clear to Ultra Magnus how he should deal with his fellow Autobots—and how he should treat Decepticons. Enforce the Law, maintain order, punish the guilty. Simple.

The Tyrest Accord had not been so clear on how to deal with neutrals. Now Cybertron was filled with mechs who were not enemies, but who were not exactly friendly either; with mechs who had no duty to the Autobot Code, but were not attempting to destroy it. The Neutrals just wanted to be left alone, except now there were too many to ignore as though they didn’t matter. Ultra Magnus had felt himself floundering in this brave new world.

He’d joined the _Lost Light_ not out of any belief in the Knights of Cybertron—he personally suspected this quest was a fool’s errand—nor out of any faith in Rodimus’s leadership. To be perfectly honest, he’d joined out of a _lack_ of faith in Rodimus’s leadership. _Someone_ would have to maintain law and order on this ship, since Rodimus wasn’t up to the task. The job needed doing, and in filling the position, Ultra Magnus could continue his role as Duly Appointed Enforcer in a way that he could no longer do on Cybertron.

Except that even on the _Lost Light_ , things had changed.

Drift, for instance. Drift was only the most egregious example of a crew comprising of misfits, troublemakers, shady characters, layabouts, eccentrics and outright lawbreakers. The Reintegration Act might’ve made Drift’s presence outside the brig _legal_ , but it didn’t make it _right_ , and Ultra Magnus barely tolerated Drift’s presence.

He hadn’t even considered what such unconcealed hostility between ranking officers might do to the command structure.

It had all been single-sided, anyway. Drift never seemed to care that Magnus hated his guts, and Rodimus had taken a perverse amusement in trying to provoke Magnus with Drift’s presence. It had all been very irritating.

And the more irritated Ultra Magnus got, the more he concentrated on doing what he did best: enforcing the Law. Enforcing it right down to the semi-colon; enforcing it to the fullest extent; enforcing it all _equally_ , never mind custom and precedent and _how are we supposed to run the ship if all the fuel-rod attendants are in the brig_ …that was Rodimus’s problem, not his. 

Looking back, Ultra Magnus admitted he’d lost sight of the big picture. He’d hidden from questions that cast doubts: on himself, on Rodimus, on their goals, both mutual and personal. On the quest, on the methods they used, on the ends they hoped to achieve. Ultra Magnus didn’t really know what he’d hoped to achieve, other than hiding in the comforting familiarity of detail from a universe he no longer understood. Other than being the ultimate example of a Duly Appointed Enforcer—because without the role and the armour, he was _nothing_.

Except.

Sometimes…on a few rare occasions…the nanocon incident being one, the Hedonia incident another….sometimes he thought he might almost sort of _fit in_ with this crew of miscreants and losers. Or at least that he _could_ belong here, if he wanted to.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

Because Minimus Ambus had been very much a loser, and Ultra Magnus had dedicated his life to putting as many accomplishments as possible between the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord and the pathetic little hanger-on of the House of Ambus who’d lived a useless, shady, troubled life before vanishing: unmarked, unmourned, unmissed.

Ultra Magnus had worked too hard and come too far to _ever_ want to belong in a place like the _Lost Light._ If that happened, he might as well have remained Minimus Ambus.

Minimus Ambus, for example, would have been right at home in a situation like this, getting…

…Well.

No, not exactly.

Nobody had ever wanted to be fragged by Minimus Ambus, and the grim notion that _this_ might be the yardstick against which his success could be measured made Magnus smirk without humour while his fuel tanks churned sickeningly inside him.

What had he become?

He had no idea.

Even now…even after realizing that Chief Justice Tyrest was not the ideal of Cybertronian discipline that he ought to be striving to emulate…Ultra Magnus still struggled to let go of his old values and beliefs. He felt as though he were adrift in a vast ocean, seeking something to keep himself afloat. Though he knew Tyrest had provided him with a problematic refuge, he felt unwilling to let go of it until he had found something more buoyant to cling to. He knew that if he were left to his own devices, he would drown. His life as Minimus Ambus had taught him that much.

He rose to his feet on shaking knees, trying to push the unwelcome metaphor out of his mind. Figurative language was an inaccurate description of reality. There weren’t truly any dark, cold floodwaters about to close over his head.

He reached down and grabbed hold of Rodimus’ wrist.

Rodimus looked up at him with a silly smile. Their disgraceful conduct had left Rodimus looking satisfied and pleased with himself, as though he reveled in perverting every standard of decency in the Autobot Code. 

“Shut your valve cover,” Magnus grumbled, humiliated at having to say such a thing.

Rodimus obeyed, though the smile didn’t leave his lips. “Wanna take this somewhere more comfy?”

Magnus grunted, kicked open the closet door, and pulled Rodimus along in his wake.

Mercifully there was no one in the corridor to inquire what the captain and second-in-command had been doing in a small storage closet, or why Rodimus’ legs were still streaked with incriminating evidence and un-captain-like filth. Rodimus was dirty, and promiscuous, and self-centered and unprofessional and all manner of awful things. Ultra Magnus did not know what had possessed him to stick his spike in someone who would’ve been just as happy to take a spike from Atomizer…or Skids, or Drift, or Sunstreaker, or who knows how many other members of the crew Rodimus had been fragging. Perhaps _all_ of them.

_Aren’t you special, Magnus, to finally get to frag someone who’d frag anyone?_

Magnus’ imagination was relentless. His mind barraged him with images of Rodimus taking it from all manner of mechs: Starscream, little Tailgate, Megatron, Optimus, the Decepticon Justice Division (all at once)…

…Chief Justice Tyrest.

Ultra Magnus shook his head. Metaphors, again. He didn’t _really_ think Rodimus had fragged the entire crew, and he definitely didn’t think Rodimus had been fragging Decepticon High Command. His mind just liked to torture him. To tell him that he was nobody special. To remind him that he was just one more conquest on Rodimus’ long and illustrious list.

“Where are we going?” Rodimus whined.

Ultra Magnus felt his temper turn distinctly ugly. “My office. As I said.”

Rodimus did a double take at Magnus’ expression and actually cringed. Magnus tightened his grip on Rodimus’ arm, knowing it might hurt, struggling to care. 

Logic protested that Ultra Magnus was not the sex police, and it was Rodimus’ business who he fragged, but something in Ultra Magnus’ spark screamed until logic fell silent. Ultra Magnus was going to lay into Rodimus with the full weight of the Autobot Code behind him, applying every statue about conduct unbecoming an officer in the book, and he was going to punish to the fullest extent of the law. He was going to make Rodimus hurt the way Rodimus had hurt him, until Rodimus understood that his actions had consequences and that consequences hurt.

His mind offered up an image of Chief Justice Tyrest taking that cap off Rodimus’ port.

_Receive the Law._

_That’s my job now. To deliver the Law._

Disgusted, appalled and aroused in equal measure, Ultra Magnus struck the catch on his office door harder than he needed to. He heard the plasteel crack, and didn’t care. _I’m not Tyrest’s Duly Appointed Enforcer any more. I’m not Tyrest’s anything._

Rodimus gasped. The door opened. “You’re still angry,” Rodimus said, stating the obvious.

“Sorry, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus said, facing straight ahead, dragging his captain into the room beside him, unwilling to look the speedster in the optics. “Fragging me does not constitute an apology.”

“Apology?” Rodimus tugged against Magnus’s grip. Ultra Magnus closed the door and set it to lock, though he did loosen his hold slightly. “For what?”

Ultra Magnus pulled Rodimus into the center of the carpet facing his desk and released him. “Stand at attention,” Ultra Magnus growled as he rounded the desk.

“Hey, I thought I was the captain here.” Rodimus had that annoying little grin on his face, but his optics were wide and panicked.

“This isn’t about business,” Ultra Magnus ground out. “This is…” It was almost physically painful to say the word. “ _Personal_.”

Rodimus braced his hands on the edge of Magnus’ desk as Ultra Magnus took his seat on the other side of the desk, feeling his feet sink into the thick carpet that prevented his chair from scratching the floor. Rodimus was not standing at attention as ordered, and it made Magnus’ fuel lines quiver with rage. 

Rodimus sounded more than a little angry himself when he demanded, “If you’re pissed off because I was playing with Atomizer, maybe you shouldn’t have ignored me for so long.”

“It’s hard to pay attention to someone who wants nothing to do with you.” Magnus could barely keep his voice in its usual icy tone. Spikes of fury kept distorting his vocalizer.

“You’re the one who wants nothing to do with _me_ unless I’m breaking some stupid rule,” Rodimus yelled. “What about all those times I tried to ask you on dates?”

“Dates?” Ultra Magnus repeated, utterly confused. Rodimus had not mentioned the word _date_. Ultra Magnus was certain of it. Magnus had been listening very specifically for words such as _date_ and _courtship_ and _couple_. He’d even marked his heads-up display to alert him when Rodimus said those words, to be absolutely certain he wouldn’t miss them. Rodimus had definitely not spoken any of the words on his _flag-to-my-attention_ list.

“Yeah!” Rodimus spluttered. “First I asked you to Swerve’s, and you said no. I thought fair enough, you don’t drink intoxicants, and I doubt you’re into the bar scene anyway. So I invite you to movie night, and you’re all _I’m busy_ and I couldn’t figure out if you really were busy or you just wanted a date where we could talk. Okay, fine, I ask if you’d like to play a game, ‘cause I don’t know, I thought you might be into one of those strategy simulators or hell, even one of those stupid sorting games…for the record I’d have played with you anyway, I _would_ , even if they are boring as hell…but oh, no, that’s not good enough either.”

Ultra Magnus had a terrible sinking feeling growing in the vicinity of his fuel tanks. “All that pestering was you trying to ask me on a _date_?” he demanded in disbelief.

Rodimus gawked at him as though he’d grown a third optic. “Um, _yeah_? What did you think I was doing?”

“I thought you were distracting me with frivolities while saying absolutely nothing of substance! That…that call to the observation deck…was that…”

Oh _no._

“Was that supposed to be a date?” Ultra Magnus asked in a very tiny voice.

Rodimus nodded, his optics wide.

Ultra Magnus groaned. “Then why in the Pit didn’t you use the word _date_? I had no idea what you were trying to do…I thought it was, I don’t know, a practical joke or something!”

Rodimus’ optics flashed. “Is _that_ all you think of me?” he snapped. “That I’d get you in my berth and then be a complete gashole? That I had my fun with you and was going to mock you afterwards?”

Magnus floundered. Rodimus had his problems, but his heart was in the right place. Did he really not trust Rodimus not to be cruel to him?

It sickened him to realize that no, he didn’t. Minimus Ambus had come to expect people to be cruel; he’d assumed _everyone_ was behaving maliciously unless he had proof otherwise. Chief Justice Tyrest had merely enforced his assumptions that even people close to him would inflict pain on him for their own purposes, and sometimes those purposes were noble, and worthy of the sacrifice. With the Magnus Armour, he was strong enough to face the pain. With the Magnus name, he was respected enough to make the burden he shouldered worthwhile. 

But he’d never learned to trust anything other than the Law. With the Tyrest Accord in tatters, he was left grasping for something, anything, to believe in, and he’d grabbed onto Rodimus.

_Do you trust him, or don’t you?_

That business with Atomizer had shaken any incipient trust Ultra Magnus might have, but he was partly to blame if he’d misunderstood Rodimus’ courtship, and he couldn’t dwell on it right now. Rodimus was staring at him with an expression of utter horror. Magnus’ heads-up display was very clear on that point—Rodimus was deeply upset. Rodimus looked as awful as Magnus felt right now.

“Oh, Primus,” Rodimus whispered. “Oh, Primus, you really _did_.”


	4. Memorandum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to comment on this fic. I had a busy month last month and wasn't able to get back to each of you, but all your comments are read and appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Four: Memorandum

Magnus looked away. It made his spark ache to see Rodimus so upset. Maybe he needed to see Ratchet about the pain in his chest, but he had to help Rodimus first. “It’s not that I think you’re a terrible person,” he whispered. “It’s…just the sort of thing I’ve come to expect.” 

Rodimus visibly cringed.

“If you didn’t intend to hurt my feelings,” Magnus said flatly, “why were you fooling around with Atomizer?”

Rodimus rolled his optics. “Because _I_ thought _you_ had dumped _me_ when I kept trying to ask you out and you kept saying no, so once you went on duty I figured I’d put on a show for the cameras and see if you actually cared enough to try to stop me.”

Magnus’ jaw dropped. “So you didn’t want to frag Atomizer?”

Rodimus shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, um, not going to lie, I’ll admit I _have_ done that before, and if you hadn’t shown up in the corridor, I probably would’ve done it again, but _not_ because I’m in love with him or anything. I probably would’ve done it to try to distract myself from thinking about you not giving two scraps about me or who I was with, and how much that hurt to think you didn’t care.” Rodimus forced a smile, but it failed to gain traction and after a couple tries, it slipped from his lips. Rodimus sagged, defeated. “Scrap, I do just the _wrong_ thing every time I’m around you.”

“It was a test.” Ultra Magnus understood tests.

“It was a _stupid_ test _._ ”

“You wanted to see if I cared.”

“I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve, but…” Ultra Magnus sighed. “I didn’t understand what you were asking me, you drew a conclusion that I was ignoring you based on the information you had, and you resorted to extreme measures to get my attention.”

“Yeah. I probably should’ve thought of some other extreme measure, though.”

“You should’ve just _asked_.”

“ _You_ didn’t ask _me_ either,” Rodimus pointed out.

“I was relying on you to continue my instruction,” Magnus said in his own defense, but even as he spoke he realized that he’d never been shy about voicing his concerns to Rodimus before. Why now? Why with this?

“Oh frag, Magnus,” Rodimus whispered. “We’re a mess.” 

Ultra Magnus did not like a mess, and his first inclination was to inform Rodimus that they needed to cease being one, _immediately_ , but Rodimus’ fingers were gently squeezing his shoulders in an extremely distracting way.

“We can’t even _talk_ to each other,” Rodimus said miserably. “I was trying so hard to reach out to you for the past two weeks and I didn’t understand that _you_ didn’t understand. I just wanted to know why you didn’t want to be with me.”

Hesitantly, Magnus reached up and took one of Rodimus’ hands in his own. “I have…a serious deficiency in protocol related to this matter. Extensive familiarization is required.” His index finger traced Rodimus’ palm. “I would like to remedy this shortfall if…” Magnus resisted the urge to bite his lip, which was a loathsome sort of fidgeting. He hated the way his whole body crawled with discomfort. “If you haven’t already decided to remove me from the mission.”

Rodimus half-laughed. “What mission?”

“The…Er. The assignment commenced in my private quarters.”

Rodimus wiped at his optics with his free hand and choked what might have been an aborted laugh. “Mission, _really_?”

Ultra Magnus’ heads-up display could not interpret Rodimus’ expression at all. The diagnostic kept flickering between _laughing_ and _weeping_. “I’m sorry,” Magnus admitted. “I don’t understand.”

Suddenly Rodimus straightened. Magnus’ diagnostic changed: Rodimus looked _inspired_. “You sit there,” the captain ordered. “I’m going to say this in a way I know for a _fact_ you’ll understand.”

Ultra Magnus sank back into his chair, watching as Rodimus scooped up a datapad from the stack on Magnus’ desk and began typing on it. Magnus almost protested that the pad in question was used solely to track the tools in work room 3. It was vital to know at all times where tools were and who was responsible for removing them from the work room; there was nothing worse than needing equipment for vital repairs only to find that someone had borrowed the variable socket spanner and hadn’t returned it. The tracking ‘pad was used to trace the last user of a tool so that someone could be held accountable. The idea of putting anything else on that datapad was distressingly illogical, and…

Magnus bit his lip to keep quiet.

Rodimus perched his aft on the lip of Magnus’ desk and poked keys with his finger. Then he rolled onto his knees and laid the pad on the desktop so he could type with both hands, but that left Rodimus on the desk with his aft in the air—inappropriate and highly distracting. “Could you just sit?” Magnus said desperately.

“Oh, sure,” Rodimus replied, most of his concentration on the pad. And instead of taking one of the folding chairs from the side of the room, Rodimus planted his aft right on Magnus’ lap. “Thanks.”

Helplessly, Magnus took hold of the datapad, leaving Rodimus free to keep typing with both hands.

There was something very satisfying about the sight of Rodimus hard at work on paperwork. Still, Rodimus was infamous for avoiding it. What could possibly have taken his attention at a time like this? Curiously, Magnus tried to catch a glimpse over Rodimus’ shoulder.

Rodimus caught him before he’d seen more than the classification at the top of the document. “Don’t look,” Rodimus said.

Ultra Magnus sighed. He couldn’t do anything productive with Rodimus sitting on his lap. What was supposed to keep his attention?

Other than the fact that Rodimus was very close to him. It felt nice, in a different sort of way than fragging. There was something pleasant and comforting about Rodimus’ proximity.

Then Rodimus stiffened, as though having second thoughts. “Hey, this is, um, this is okay, right? Me sitting here?”

“Oh yes,” Magnus replied. “This is very agreeable.”

Rodimus relaxed. “Good.”

Much as Rodimus was a hot little package, right now Ultra Magnus was happy just being near him. Rodimus’ touch was still desirable, but in a comforting way rather than an exciting one. It was a very confusing experience. Magnus had only just begun to understand the appeal of fragging, only to discover that spending time in close physical proximity without fragging was not a waste of time. It appeared that non-sexual intimacy could, in fact, be an end in itself—a very pleasant one.

“Okay,” Rodimus said at last. “You can see my first draft now, but you have to promise to give me a pass on format and grammar and stuff.”

Magnus raised a finger in admonishment. “Format and grammar are of critical importance in…”

Rodimus closed his hand around Magnus’ finger. “I don’t want anyone else reading this before you do, so I can’t get an editor, and unless you want me on your lap for the next few days straight, this is as good as I can get it. Okay?”

Magnus had far too much work to do to spend the next few days as Rodimus’ personal chair, no matter how appealing the image might be. “Okay,” he agreed hesitantly.

“Here,” Rodimus said, thrusting the datapad into his hands.

Magnus took the pad in his right hand, wrapped his left hand around Rodimus’ waist, and read.

CLASSIFIED SECRET

MEMORANDUM

TO: Ultra Magnus, _Lost Light_ executive officer

FROM: Rodimus, _Lost Light_ captain

RE: Personal Relationship Between Captain and XO

  1. This memo is to serve as notice that the Captain of the _Lost Light_ (from now on referred to as “Rodimus”) is in love with the Executive Officer of the _Lost Light_ (from now on referred to as “Ultra Magnus,” with the understanding that this document refers solely to the individual designated “Minimus Ambus,” and not any prior or future wearers of the Magnus Armour).
  2. Given the situation mentioned in article 1 it is the belief of Rodimus that he and Ultra Magnus should initiate courtship procedures.
  3. Assuming Ultra Magnus feels the same way about Rodimus, because if he doesn’t 2 does not apply
  4. If he doesn’t, he should inform Rodimus immediately. All courtship related behaviour and unwelcome extra-courtship flirting would cease at once.
  5. It’s totally not illegal, Mags, I even checked the Autobot Code. 



Ultra Magnus read the memo. The format itself wasn’t so bad (Magnus suspected Rodimus had copied a previous memo and just changed the header and body) but the paragraphs grew progressively less formal until they reached a level of utter inappropriateness. Magnus felt a very strong urge to edit this document later. Much later. Say, perhaps, after he had managed to parse the ramifications of the information in points one and two.

“Well?” Rodimus looked uncertain. Magnus had to check with his heads up display’s emotion diagnostic program to be certain, since he wasn’t accustomed to Rodimus ever admitting a lack of certainty about anything. Rodimus usually jumped to a conclusion, correct or otherwise, and barrelled forward at full throttle. Now, though, the program agreed that Rodimus was displaying signs of uncertainty, as well as nervousness and anxiety.

“You’re looking for a comment on the content, as opposed to the grammar?”

Rodimus bit his lip. “Yeah. Maybe let’s start with, do you think you’d ever sign off on a memo like this one?”

“I think…yes, I think that could be very rewarding for both of us.” 

He nuzzled Rodimus’ neck. He wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though that might be protocol. From the way Rodimus’ whole body relaxed against his, it appeared that he had guessed correctly.

“It’ll need some revisions and additions, though,” Magnus said. He quickly typed a new paragraph and handed the pad back to Rodimus.

  1. Rodimus shall use clear and exact language when explaining emotions and suggested actions to Ultra Magnus in the interest of avoiding misunderstandings.



Rodimus took the datapad back, read the new article, nodded, and wrote something of his own before passing it back.

  1. Rodimus shall safeguard trust which Ultra Magnus places in him. Ultra Magnus will request “wait” or “stop” if something makes him uncomfortable. Rodimus will comply at once. This clause also applies in reverse. No courtship is possible unless both parties are in agreement on this point.



“Oh,” Rodimus said, reaching for the datapad. “I forgot.”

  1. Rodimus promises not to fool around with anyone else while engaging in courtship with Ultra Magnus.



Ultra Magnus read the new amendment and wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He liked the idea that Rodimus was willing to give up his frag buddies in favour of a relationship with him. But Magnus felt a little bit worried that sooner or later, Rodimus’ spike was going to cause problems. Rodimus liked to put that in valves sometimes—Magnus had seen it on the surveillance cameras—and Magnus still felt small and scared and panicked at the idea of being on the receiving end of that activity. But if Magnus didn’t let Rodimus do that, Rodimus might go find someone else to do it with.

Ultra Magnus didn’t know what to do about that. He felt it was unfair to ask Rodimus to never enjoy having his spike in a valve again, particularly when Magnus knew how good it felt. But he also didn’t like the idea of Rodimus doing that with anyone else.

On the other hand, courtship was a period during which two mechs learned to function as a couple. Some went on to become conjunx endurae while others decided to part ways, having learned from their courtship that the match failed to meet the needs of one or both partners. Ultra Magnus was worried that he and Rodimus were ill-suited to one another, but it seemed premature for him to voice those concerns when the whole point of courtship was to decide that point.

No, for right now, Ultra Magnus felt contented. Things would work out between them or they would not, but in this moment, Ultra Magnus knew exactly where he stood.

  1. Ultra Magnus promises not to engage in intimate congress with anyone else while engaging in courtship with Rodimus.



Rodimus snorted. “Intimate congress, really?”

Magnus frowned. “Quote, fragging someone else’s brain module out, end quote, is not appropriate language for a memo. Nor is, quote, making out, end quote.”

Rodimus made a strange wheezing noise. Magnus’ heads up display told him that Rodimus was trying very hard not to laugh.

Ultra Magnus didn’t even bother trying. And, a few seconds later, Rodimus gave up his losing battle, and joined in.

#

“Hey. Magnus?” Rodimus murmured at last.

Magnus grunted by way of reply. His optics were dim, and his thoughts were hazy, and his communications suite seemed reluctant to form an articulate response.

“You figure we should finish and sign that document?” Rodimus nodded to the datapad on Magnus’ desk.

“Not before it’s edited.” Ultra Magnus sighed. “Really, Rodimus. You cannot expect me to put my signature to a memorandum filled with improper grammar and unclear phrasing.” 

“You gonna edit it?”

“Eventually.” He wrapped his arm around Rodimus’ waist and drew his captain closer. “Are there time constraints?”

Because, after all, the datapad was way up there on his desk, while he and Rodimus were way down here, on the rug that usually protected the floor from being scratched by Magnus’ chair. Now Magnus’ chair had been unceremoniously kicked into a corner, where it might or might not be leaving scuff marks, but polish existed for a reason and there was never any shortage of punishment details on a ship such as this one. Some mechanism with defaulters for poor behaviour could shine the floor later. Ultra Magnus was currently _far_ too busy with his superior officer on his immaculately clean rug that, as Magnus had recently discovered, also did an excellent job protecting two prone mechs from the hard, cold floor.

“Nah,” Rodimus said, cuddling closer to his soon-to-be partner. “No hurry at all.”


End file.
